He is signaling me through the flames

I dreamed my brother and dead step-father were painting and remodeling rooms.

Before I knew it, they had finished three.

There were lots of colors, hanging tapestries, a bohemian vibe.

My brother said, "I know. Aren't our lives already impressive enough?"

Ferlinghetti, the poet who lived a long life and did not die by his own hand said, 

"If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic."

He is on the other side of the flames staring hard, willing me to raise my eyes - I can feel it.

I'd like to be able to look up, stare hard back, and transmit resolute solidarity.

But I am here getting my ass kicked by the ordinary -

Having to get out of bed, keeping gas in my car, getting to work on time.